


Don't Lose

by thechickadee



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechickadee/pseuds/thechickadee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's really very obvious, but he's always been the only one that notices.<br/>And she thinks that's supposed to mean something significant, but right now all she can think of is how badly she wants to stay here on this old barstool next to Seth instead of flying across the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Lose

This time she wasn't coming back for a while. Not that she ever knew for sure, but this time she just had that feeling. The feeling that gave her butterflies and made her want to hold on to something tightly until her hands went numb. That same feeling she had her last night of SNL, the same feeling she had before she went away to the desert for two months to film a movie, the feeling that things were going to be paused for a little while. Nothing was going to change, things would just be paused.   
  
She sits at the back of the bar in her loose black dress, tilting back her beer, letting the last few drops roll into her mouth. An hour ago, her hair was in perfect golden waves, cascading around her face; now, it's pulled back into a messy ponytail with strands falling across her eyes once in a while. Her knees are getting cold, and she misses her jeans; she wonders why she felt like dressing up tonight.   
There's something comfortable about coming to SNL after-parties now, so long after she left; it's like an old reminder of who she used to be, a reminder of what was so big in her life all those years ago. It's familiar. That old feeling of excitement, the small reason to make herself look pretty, the excuse to get sloppy drunk once in a while. And she feels no need to go back to her apartment and sleep, no pull at the back of her mind forcing her to leave this crowded bar. 

Maybe it’s because she’s leaving in the morning, but she feels more at home at the back of this bar than she has in a while.  
She doesn't know where her strappy heels or her jacket are, and she doesn't know whose flip-flops she's wearing; all she knows is that she's warm and drunk and doesn't give a shit.   
  
She should care. She really should care that she's about to leave for LA for possibly an entire season of shooting. But she's just not ready to acknowledge it yet. Screw change. She's got a bar full of funny people and alcohol, and she's not leaving yet.   
  
Seth comes and finds her, like he always does when things calm down a bit. He just sits beside her without a word, gently bumping his shoulder into hers.   
"This one's going to be long, isn't it?" He asks quietly, his fingers playing with a string on the bottom of her shirt.  
She sighs, rests her hand on his knee. She would ask how he knew, but he always knows what she's thinking. He's always been able to tell when she's leaving. He can see the way her mind hungrily drinks in her surroundings, the way her eyes subconsciously try to freeze every moment, the way she tries weakly to anchor herself. It's really very obvious, but he's always been the only one that notices.

And she thinks that's supposed to mean something significant, but right now all she can think of is how badly she wants to stay here on this old barstool next to Seth instead of flying across the country.  
  
She nods, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He's still looking down, a sad smile on his face.   
"You still get sad when I leave?" She asks. "Even though we don't see each other now as much as we used to?"

Her voice is tinged with ridicule, but he knows better; he can see the uncertainty in her words, the shy way she’s not quite looking at him.  
He lifts his head, and his eyes are so blue and honest it hurts to look at them.  
"It's different knowing you're not around," he says. "I can't pretend you're right next to me if you're two thousand miles away."  
Something about his eyes and his face and what he's saying makes her want to cry, but that's absurd. She’s left too many times for every time to be this hard.  
"You can call me, you know," she says softly. "Whenever you want."  
He nods, and takes her hand in his.   
His hand is so much bigger than hers, completely covering it, and she feels small and tired and she just wants to be wrapped up in him.  
"Come on," he says, standing up. Still holding her hand, he leads her to the dance floor, where soft music is floating out of the speakers.  
He puts his hands on her waist and she laughs. "This is so seventh grade."  
He rolls his eyes and pulls her closer, wrapping his arms all the way around her back, and she sighs, leaning her head against his chest.   
  
He smells like the snow outside and the cologne he's worn for as long as she can remember. He smells like the same person she met thirteen years ago, the same skinny little guy willing to do anything for a laugh. He smells like shampoo and fabric softener and cold night air, like the same guy who held her every night she cried, every night she just needed to be held.   
  
She plays with the hair at the base of his neck and she can feel him smile against the side of her forehead. Her eyes are closed, and his hands are warm on her back, strong and heavy and solid.   
He feels like a wall that will never buckle under her constant attack of whirling emotion, the wall she has always leaned on. He bends his head so their cheeks are touching, and he feels like that night they kissed. The stubble on his jaw rubbing her face, the breath on her ear, it all feels the same as it did nine years ago, and every time since, and it makes her eyes prick with tears, knowing the feeling of him so close will never leave her mind.  
  
The music changes to another song, one she doesn't know. Seth knows it, though, and he's singing along in her ear. His voice is low and soft, and he sounds like late nights at the office. He sounds like the nights he would yell hoarsely to wake her up at two in the morning so they could go home, like the soft laughter in her ear every minute of the day. His voice was gravely, and it sounded like the way he would whisper before leaning in close, the voice he used right before their lips met every time. It made her shiver and it made her smile, and sometimes it made her cry, and she could listen to his off-key singing for the rest of her life if he would let her.  
  
The music is still going, that song that Seth knows and he's singing the words like they mean something. When he sings, "I miss all the little things, I never thought that they'd mean everything to me," she looks up at him, her eyes scared. Scared that he's thinking the exact same things she is, and that there is nothing stopping them from crossing a line they aren't allowed to cross. He sees the fear in her eyes and smiles softly, tucking one of those strands of loose hair behind her ear. His eyes are calming and she doesn't want to miss seeing them. She doesn't want to forget what he smells like or feels like when they're intertwined.

She’s thinking and thinking, her mind spinning out of control, and she only stops when she realizes he’s kissing her.

 

 

She kisses him back, and he tastes like sunshine on a rainy day.

 

 

 

 

Morning comes, and she wakes up. Alone.

The sky is still dark and she waits for her cab to take her to the airport.

She walks into the kitchen and sees her suitcase by the door, the zipper stuck halfway around the bag. She starts to form a half-hearted metaphor about how the suitcase is her life right now, but gives up because she realizes she’s comparing her life to a fucking _suitcase_.

Shaking her head, she moves over to the living room and checks  the box she keeps on the shelf near the door. It’s a small wooden box, painted bright blue by the inexperienced hands of a four year-old. On the cover in shaky yellow letters, it reads: "Don’t lose."

 

She keeps her keys in it, and some little pieces of paper or torn paper napkins with jokes she’s especially proud of. She checks it before she leaves, every time, so she knows what she can’t lose.

Her hand rubs the bright letters across the top, and she opens the box, just like every other time.

 

There’s a new piece of paper in the box. At first she almost misses it; it’s crumpled and dark brown. She picks it up and holds it closer, studying it, and she realizes it’s a beer label. The edges are peeled off, like she does to her beer bottles every time she’s nervous, and with a flash she knows it’s the label from last night. The beer that she was holding, sitting on that stool, the beer Seth took from her hand and set aside. The beer she never even finished.

She turns the label around, and on the other side, scrawled in blue pen, it says:

 "Me."

 

She smiles. “Okay, Seth. Okay,” and she puts it back in the blue box that says, “Don’t lose.”


End file.
